EIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


0.  LIBRARY 


THE  SONG  OF 
THE  STONE  WALL 


THE  STORY  OF  MY  LIFE 

OPTIMISM 

THE  WORLD  I  LIVE  IN 


THE  SONG  OF 
THE  STONE  WALL 


BY 

HELEN  KELLER 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1910 


II 


ADIT 


Copyright,  1909,  1910. 

By  THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  October,  1910 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS 


DEDICATION 


WHEN  I  began  "The  Song  of  the  Stone 
Wall,"  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale  was 
still  among  us,  and  it  was  my  intention  to  dedi 
cate  the  poem  to  him  if  it  should  be  deemed 
worthy  of  publication.  I  fancied  that  he  would 
like  it ;  for  he  loved  the  old  walls  and  the  tra 
ditions  that  cling  about  them. 

As  I  tried  to  image  the  men  who  had  built 
the  walls  long  ago,  it  seemed  to  me  that  Dr. 
Hale  was  the  living  embodiment  of  whatever 
was  heroic  in  the  founders  of  New  England. 
He  was  a  great  American.  He  was  also  a 
great  Puritan.  Was  not  the  zeal  of  his  ances 
tors  upon  his  lips,  and  their  courage  in  his  heart  ? 
Had  they  not  bequeathed  to  him  their  torch- 
like  faith,  their  patient  fervor  of  toil  and  their 
creed  of  equality  ? 

But  his  bright  spirit  had  inherited  no  trace  of 
their  harshness  and  gloom.  The  windows  of 
his  soul  opened  to  the  sunlight  of  a  joyous  faith. 
His  optimism  and  genial  humor  inspired  glad 
ness  and  good  sense  in  others.  With  an  old 


story  he  prepared  their  minjs  to  receive  new 
ideas,  and  with  a  parable  he  opened  their  hearts 
to  generous  feelings.  All  men  loved  him  be 
cause  he  loved  them.  They  knew  that  his  heart 
was  in  their  happiness,  and  that  his  humanity  em 
braced  their  sorrows.  In  him  the  weak  found 
a  friend,  the  unprotected,  a  champion.  Though 
a  herald  and  proclaimer  of  peace,  he  could  fight 
stubbornly  and  passionately  on  the  side  of  jus 
tice.  His  was  a  lovable,  uplifting  greatness 
which  drew  all  men  near  and  ever  nearer  to 
God  and  to  each  other.  Like  his  ancestors, 
he  dreamed  of  a  land  of  freedom  founded  on 
the  love  of  God  and  the  brotherhood  of  man, 
a  land  where  each  man  shall  achieve  his  share 
of  happiness  and  learn  the  work  of  manhood — 
to  rule  himself  and  "lend  a  hand." 

Thoughts  like  these  were  often  in  my  mind 
as  the  poem  grew  and  took  form.  It  is  fitting, 
therefore,  that  I  should  dedicate  it  to  him,  and 
in  so  doing  I  give  expression  to  the  love  and 
reverence  which  I  have  felt  for  him  ever  since 
he  called  me  his  little  cousin,  more  than  twenty 


years  ago. 

Wrentham,  Massachusetts, 
January,  1910. 


HELEN  KELLER 


THE  SONG  OF 
THE  STONE  WALL 


THE  SONG  OF 
THE  STONE  WALL 

Come  walk  with  me,  and  I  will  tell 
What  I  have  read  in  this  scroll  of  stone; 
I  will  spell  out  this  writing  on  hill  and  meadow. 
It  is  a  chronicle  wrought  by  praying  workmen, 
The  forefathers  of  our  nation — 
Leagues  upon  leagues  of  sealed  history  await 
ing  an  interpreter. 
This  is  New  England's  tapestry  of  stone 


I 


quiver 

At  the  core  of  the  ages 
As  the  prophecies  of  old  at  the  heart  of  God's 

Word. 

The  walls  have  many  things  to  tell  rre, 
And  the  days  are  long.     I  come  and  listen: 
My  hand  is  upon  the  stones,  and  the  tale  I 

fain  would  hear 
Is  of  the  men  who  built  the  walls, 

\ 

And  of  the  God  who  made  the  stones  and 
the  workers. 


I  plunge  and  stumble  over  the  fallen  stones; 

I  follow  the  windings  of  the  wall 

Over  the  heaving  hill,  down  by  the  meadow- 
brook, 

Beyond  the  scented  fields,  by  the  marsh  where 
rushes  grow. 

On  I  trudge  through  pine  woods  fragrant  and 
cool 

And  emerge  amid  clustered  pools  and  by 
rolling  acres  of  rye. 


5 

NTZ^ 


The  wall  is  builded  of  field-stones  great  and 

small, 

Tumbled  about  by  frost  and  storm, 
Shaped  and  polished  by  ice  and  rain  and  sun; 
Some  flattened,  grooved,  and  chiseled 
By  the  inscrutable  sculpture  of  the  weather; 
Some  with  clefts  and  rough  edges  harsh  to  the 

touch. 

Gracious  Time  has  glorified  the  wall 
And  covered  the  historian  stones  with  a 

mantle  of  green. 


Sunbeams  flit  and  waver  in  the  rifts, 


Vanish  and  reappear,  linger  and  sleep, 
Conquer  with  radiance  the  obdurate  angles, 
Filter  between  the  naked  rents  and  wind- 
bleached  jags. 

I  understand  the  triumph  and  the  truth 
Wrought  into  these  walls  of  rugged  stone. 
They  are  a  miracle  of  patient  hands, 
They  are  a  victory  of  suffering,  a  paean  of 
pain; 


•• ' 


All  pangs  of  death,  all  cries  of  birth, 
Are  in  the  mute,  moss-covered  stones; 
They  are  eloquent  to  my  hands. 
O  beautiful,  blind  stones,  inarticulate  and 

dumb! 
In  the  deep  gloom  of  their  hearts  there  is  a 

gleam 

Of  the  primeval  sun  which  looked  upon  them 
When  they  were  begotten. 

V,  t 

So  in  the  heart  of  man  shines  forever 
A  beam  from  the  everlasting  sun  of  God. 


8 

>rj^ 


«~.«-.<;«»y.«. 


Rude  and  unresponsive  are  the  stones; 
Yet  in  them  divine  things  lie  concealed; 
I  hear  their  imprisoned  chant:  — 

"  We  are  fragments  of  the  universe, 
Chips  of  the  rock  whereon  God  laid  the 

foundation  of  the  world : 
Out  of  immemorial  chaos  He  wrought  us. 
Out  of  the  sun,  out  of  the  tempest,  out  of  the 

travail  of  the  earth  we  grew. 
We  are  wonderfully  mingled  of  life  and  death; 


9 

•\r^ 


We  serve  as  crypts  for  innumerable,  unnoticed, 


tiny  forms. 

We  are  manifestations  of  the  Might 
That  rears  the  granite  hills  unto  the  clouds 
And  sows  the  tropic  seas  with  coral  isles. 
We  are  shot  through  and  through  with  hidden 

color; 
A  thousand  hues  are  blended  in  our  gray 

substance. 

Sapphire,  turquoise,  ruby,  opal, 
Emerald,  diamond,  amethyst,  are  our  sisters 

from  the  beginning, 

10 


r^==^^=^) 


And  our  brothers  are  iron,  lead,  zinc, 


Copper  and  silver  and  gold. 

We  are  the  dust  of  continents  past  and  to  come, 

We  are  a  deathless  frieze  carved  with  man's 

destiny; 

In  us  is  the  record  sibylline  of  far  events. 
We  are  as  old  as  the  world,  our  birth  was 

before  the  hills. 

We  are  the  cup  that  holds  the  sea 
And  the  framework  of  the  peak  that  parts  the 

sky. 


Chaos  shall  again  return, 
And  endless  Night  shall  spread  her  wings 

upon  a  ruined  world, 

We  alone  shall  stand  up  from  the  shattered  earth, 
Indestructible,  invincible  witnesses  of  God's 

eternal  purpose." 

In  reflective  mood  by  the  wall  I  wander; 

The  hoary  stones  have  set  my  heart  astir; 

. 

My  thoughts  take  shape  and  move  beside  me 
in  the  guise 


12 


. 


olden  days. 
One  by  one  the  melancholy  phantoms  go 

stepping  from  me, 

And  I  follow  them  in  and  out  among  the  stones. 
I  think  of  the  days  long  gone, 
Flown  like  birds  beyond  the  ramparts  of  the 

world. 

The  patient,  sturdy  men  who  piled  the  stones 
Have  vanished,  like  the  days,  beyond  the 

bounds 


15 





From  their  humble,  steadfast  lives  has  sprung 

the  greatness  of  my  nation. 
I  am  bone  of  their  bone,  breath  of  their 

breath, 

Their  courage  is  in  my  soul. 
The  wall  is  an  Iliad  of  granite :  it  chants  to  me 
Of  pilgrims  of  the  perilous  deep, 

Of  fearless  journeyings  and  old  forgotten 

\. 

things. 
The  blood  of  grim  ancestors  warms  the  fingers 


My  pulses  beat  in  unison  with  pulses  that  are 

stilled; 

The  fire  of  their  zeal  inspires  me 
In  my  struggle  with  darkness  and  pain. 
These  embossed  books,  unobliterated  by  the 

tears  and  laughter  of  Time, 
Are  signed  with  the  vital  hands  of  undaunted 

men. 

I  love  these  monoliths,  so  crudely  imprinted 
With  their  stalwart,  cleanly,  frugal  lives. 


From  my  seat  among  the  stones  I  stretch 

my  hand  and  touch 
My  friend  the  elm,  urnlike,  lithesome,  tall. 
Far  above  the  reach  of  my  exploring  fingers 
Birds  are  singing  and  winging  joyously 
Through  leafy  billows  of  green. 
The  elm-tree's  song  is  wondrous  sweet ; 
The  words  are  the  ancientest  language  of  trees  — 
They  tell  how  earth  and  air  and  light 
Are  wrought  anew  to  beauty  and  to  f ruitfulness. 
I  feel  the  glad  stirrings  under  her  rough  bark; 


18 


L..... 


Her  living  sap  mounts  up  to  bring  forth  leaves; 
Her  great  limbs  thrill  beneath  the  wand  of 
spring. 

This  wall  was  builded  in  our  fathers' 

days  — 
Valorous  days  when  life  was  lusty  and  the 

land  was  new. 
Resemble  the  walls  the  builders,  buffeted, 

stern,  and  worn. 
To  us  they  left  the  law, 


19 

>rv 


Order,  simplicity,  obedience, 
And  the  wall  is  the  bond  they  gave  the  nation 
At  its  birth  of  courage  and  unflinching  faith. 
Before  the  epic  here  inscribed  began, 
They  wrote  their  course  upon  a  trackless  sea. 
O,  tiny  craft,  bearing  a  nation's  seed! 
Frail  shallop,  quick  with  unborn  states! 
Autumn  was  mellow  in  the  fatherland  when 

they  set  sail, 

\ 

And  winter  deepened  as  they  neared  the  West. 
Out  of  the  desert  sea  they  came  at  last, 


And  their  hearts  warmed  to  see  that  frozen 


land. 
O,  first  gray  dawn  that  filtered  through  the 

dark! 
Bleak,  glorious  birth-hour  of  our  northern 

states ! 
They  stood  upon  the  shore  like  new  created 

men; 

On  barren  solitudes  of  sand  they  stood, 
The  conquered  sea  behind,  the  unconquered 

wilderness  before. 


Some  died  that  year  beneath  the  cruel  cold, 
And  some  for  heartsick  longing  and  the  pang 
Of  homes  remembered  and  souls  torn  asunder. 
That  spring  the  new-plowed  field  for  bread  of 

life 

Bordered  the  new-dug  acre  marked  for  death; 
Beside  the  springing  corn  they  laid  in  the 

sweet,  dark  earth 
The  young  man,  strong  and  free,  the  maiden, 

fair  and  trustful, 
The  little  child,  and  the  uncomplaining  mother. 


22 


" 


Across  the  meadow,  by  the  ancient  pines, 
Where  I,  the  child  of  life  that  lived  that  spring, 
Drink  in  the  fragrances  of  the  young  year, 
The  field-wall  meets  one  grimly  squared  and 

straight. 

Beyond  it  rise  the  old  tombs,  gray  and  restful, 
And  the  upright  slates  record  the  generations. 
Stiffly  aslant  before  the  northern  blasts, 
Like  the  steadfast,  angular  beliefs 
Of  those  whom  they  commemorate,  the  head 
stones  stand, 


25 

-VT 


Cemented  deep  with  moss  and  invisible  roots. 
The  rude  inscriptions  charged  with  faith  and 

love, 
Graceless  as  Death  himself,  yet  sweet  as 

Death, 

Are  half  erased  by  the  impartial  storms. 
As  children  lisping  words  which  move  to 

laughter 

Are  themselves  poems  of  unconscious  melody, 
So  the  old  gravestones  with  their  crabbed 


muse 


Are  beautiful  for  their  halting  words  of  faith, 
Their  groping  love  that  had  no  gift  of  song. 
But  all  the  broken  tragedy  of  life 
And  all  the  yearning  mystery  of  death 
Are  celebrated  in  sweet  epitaphs  of  vines  and 
iolets. 


vio 


Close  by  the  wall  a  peristyle  of  pines 
Sings  requiems  to  all  the  dead  that  sleep. 

Beyond  the  village  churchyard,  still  and 
calm, 


27 


Steeped  in  the  sweetness  of  eternal  morn, 

The  wall  runs  down  in  crumbling  cadence 

Beside  the  brook  which  plays 

Through  the  land  like  a  silver  harp. 

A  wind  of  ancient  romance  blows  across  the 

field, 

A  sweet  disturbance  thrills  the  air; 
The  silken  skirts  of  Spring  go  rustling  by, 
And  the  earth  is  astir  with  joy. 
Up  the  hill,  romping  and  shaking  their  golden 

heads, 


28 


From  ecstasy  to  ecstasy  the  year  mounts 

upward. 
Up  from  the  south  come  the  odor-laden 

winds, 

Angels  and  ministers  of  life, 
Dropping  seeds  of  fruitfulness 
Into  the  bosoms  of  flowers. 
Elusive,  alluring  secrets  hide  in  wood  and 

hedge 
Like  the  first  thoughts  of  love 


In  the  breast  of  a  maiden; 


The  witchery  of  love  is  in  rock  and  tree. 
Across  the  pasture,  star-sown  with  daisies, 
I  see  a  young  girl — the  spirit  of  spring  she 

seems, 
Sister  of  the  winds  that  run  through  the 

rippling  daisies. 
Sweet  and  clear  her  voice  calls  father  and 

brother, 
And  one  whose  name  her  shy  lips  will  not 

utter. 


heart 


And  tells  his  name  :  the  birches  flutter  by  the 


wa 


ll; 


The  wild  cherry-tree  shakes  its  plumy  head 
And  whispers  his  name;  the  maple 
Opens  its  rosy  lips  and  murmurs  his  name; 
The  marsh-marigold  sends  the  rumor 
Down  the  winding  stream,  and  the  blue  flag 
Spreads  the  gossip  to  the  lilies  in  the  lake: 
All  Nature's  eyes  and  tongues  conspire 


31 


In  the  unfolding  of  the  tale 

That  Adam  and  Eve  beneath  the  blossoming 

rose-tree 

Told  each  other  in  the  Garden  of  Eden. 
Once  more  the  wind  blows  from  the  walls, 
And  I  behold  a  fair  young  mother ; 
She  stands  at  the  lilac-shaded  door 
With  her  baby  at  her  breast; 
She  looks  across  the  twilit  fields  and  smiles 
And  whispers  to  her  child:  "Thy  father 

comes ! " 


32 

•^TV 


Life  triumphed  over  many-weaponed  Death. 
Sorrow  and  toil  and  the  wilderness  thwarted 

their  stout  invasion; 
But  with  the  ship  that  sailed  again  went  no 

retreating  soul! 
Stubborn,  unvanquished,  clinging  to  the  skirts 

of  Hope, 

They  kept  their  narrow  foothold  on  the  land, 
And  the  ship  sailed  home  for  more. 
With  yearlong  striving  they  fought  their  way 

into  the  forest; 


Their  axes  echoed  where  I  sit,  a  score  of 


miles  from  the  sea. 
Slowly,  slowly  the  wilderness  yielded 
To  smiling  grass-plots  and  clearings  of  yellow 

corn; 
And  while  the  logs  of  their  cabins  were  still 

moist 
With  odorous  sap,  they  set  upon  the  hill 

The  shrine  of  liberty  for  man's  mind, 

~v 

And  by  it  the  shrine  of  liberty  for  man's  soul, 
The  school-house  and  the  church. 


The  apple-tree  by  the  wall  sheds  its  blossoms 

about  me  — 

A  shower  of  petals  of  light  upon  darkness. 
From  Nature's  brimming  cup  I  drink  a 

thousand  scents ; 
At  noon  the  wizard  sun  stirs  the  hot  soil 

under  the  pines. 

I  take  the  top  stone  of  the  wall  in  my  hands 
And  the  sun  in  my  heart; 
I  feel  the  rippling  land  extend  to  right  and 

left, 


I  clamber  up  the  hill  and  beyond  the  grassy 

sweep; 

I  encounter  a  chaos  of  tumbled  rocks. 
Piles  of  shadow  they  seem,  huddling  close  to 

the  land. 

Here  they  are  scattered  like  sheep, 
Or  like  great  birds  at  rest, 
There  a  huge  block  juts  from  the  giant  wave 

of  the  hill. 


38 


moccasins 


Track  the  sod  like  the  noiseless  sandals  of 

Spring. 

Out  of  chinks  in  the  wall  delicate  grasses  wave, 
As  beauty  grew  out  of  the  crannies  of  those 

hard  souls. 

Joyously,  gratefully,  after  their  long  wrestling 
With  the  bitter  cold  and  the  harsh  white 
winter, 


melting  snow-drifts ; 
Gladly,  with  courage  that  flashed  from  their 

life-beaten  souls, 

As  the  fire-sparks  fly  from  the  hammered  stone, 
They  hailed  the  fragrant  arbutus ; 
Its  sweetness  trailed  beside  the  path  that  they 

cut  through  the  forest, 
And  they  gave  it  the  name  of  their  ship 

Mayflower. 
Beauty  was  at  their  feet,  and  their  eyes 

beheld  it; 

40 


The  earth  cried  out  for  labor,  and  they  gave  it. 
But  ever  as  they  saw  the  budding  spring, 
Ever  as  they  cleared  the  stubborn  field, 
Ever  as  they  piled  the  heavy  stones, 
In  mystic  visions  they  saw  the  eternal  spring ; 
They  raised  their  hardened  hands  above  the 

earth, 
And  beheld  the  walls  that  are  not  built  of 

stone, 
The  portals  opened  by  angels  whose  garments 

are  of  light; 


41 


stones 

They  dreamed  vast  meadows  and  hills  of 
fadeless  green. 

In  the  old  house  across  the  road 
With  weather-beaten  front,  like  the  furrowed 
face  of  an  old  man, 

The  lights  are  out  forever,  the  windows  are 

. 
broken, 

And  the  oaken  posts  are  warped ; 
The  storms  beat  into  the  rooms  as  the  passion 
of  the  world 


Racked  and  buffeted  those  who  once  dwelt 


in  them. 


The  psalm  and  the  morning  prayer  are  silent. 
But  the  walls  remain  visible  witnesses  of  faith 
That  knew  no  wavering  or  shadow  of  turning. 
They  have  withstood  sun  and  northern  blast, 
They  have  outlasted  the  unceasing  strife 
Of  forces  leagued  to  tear  them  down. 
Under  the  stars  and  the  clouds,  under  the 

summer  sun, 
Beaten  by  rain  and  wind,  covered  with 

tender  vines, 


granite  race, 
The  measure  and  translation  of  olden  times. 


In  the  rough  epic  of  their  life,  their  toil, 

their  creeds, 

Their  psalms,  their  prayers,  what  stirring  tales 
Of  days  that  were  their  past  had  they  to  tell 
Their  children  to  keep  the  new  faith  burning  ? 
Tales  of  grandsires  in  the  fatherland 
Whose  faith  was  seven  times  tried  in  fiery 

furnaces, — 


Of  Rowland  Taylor  who  kissed  the  stake, 
And  stood  with  hands  folded  and  eyes  stead 
fastly  turned 

To  the  sky,  and  smiled  upon  the  flames ; 
Of  Larimer,  and  of  Cranmer  who  for 

cowardice  heroically  atoned  — 
Who  thrust  his  right  hand  into  the  fire 
Because  it  had  broken  plight  with  his  heart 
And  written  against  the  voice  of  his 

conviction. 

With  such  memories  they  exalted  and 
cherished 

47 


The  heroism  of  their  tried  souls, 
And  ours  are  wrung  with  doubt  and  self- 
distrust  ! 

I  am  kneeling  on  the  odorous  earth ; 
The  sweet,  shy  feet  of  Spring  come  tripping 

o'er  the  land, 
Winter  is  fled  to  the  hills,  leaving  snowy 

wreaths 

On  apple-tree,  meadow,  and  marsh. 
The  walls  are  astir ;  little  waves  of  blue 


murmuring : 

"  We  follow  the  winds  and  the  snow ! 
Their  heart  is  a  cup  of  gold. 
Soft  whispers  of  showers  and  flowers 
Are  mingled  in  the  spring  song  of  the  walls. 
Hark  to  the  songs  that  go  singing  like  the  wind 
Through  the  chinks  of  the  wall  and  thrill  the 

heart 

And  quicken  it  with  passionate  response! 
The  walls  sing  the  song  of  wild  bird,  the 

hoof-beat  of  deer, 


The  murmur  of  pine  and  cedar,  the  ripple  of 


many  streams ; 

Crows  are  calling  from  the  Druidical  wood ; 
The  morning  mist  still  haunts  the  meadows 
Like  the  ghosts  of  the  wall  builders. 

As  I  listen,  methinks  I  hear  the  bitter  plaint 
Of  the  passing  of  a  haughty  race, 
The  wronged,  friendly,  childlike,  peaceable 

tribes, 
The  swarthy  archers  of  the  wilderness, 


50 


The  red  men  to  whom  Nature  opened  all  her 


secrets, 

Who  knew  the  haunts  of  bird  and  fish, 
The  hidden  virtue  of  herb  and  root ; 
All  the  travail  of  man  and  beast  they  knew — 
Birth  and  death,  heat  and  cold, 
Hunger  and  thirst,  love  and  hate ; 
For  these  are  the  unchanging  things  writ  in  the 

imperishable  book  of  life 
That  man  suckled  at  the  breast  of  woman 

must  know. 


The  winds  murmur  their  mysteries  through 

dusky  aisles  — 
Secrets  of  earth's  renewal  and  the  endless 

cycle  of  life. 

Living  things  are  afoot  among  the  grasses; 
The  closed  fingers  of  the  ferns  unfold, 
New  bees  explore  new  flowers,  and  the  brook 
Pours  virgin  waters  from  the  rushing  founts  of 

May. 
In  the  old  walls  there  are  sinister  voices — 


52 

•^ry 


The  groans  of  women  charged  with  witchcraft. 
I  see  a  lone,  gray,  haggard  woman  standing 

at  bay, 

Helpless  against  her  grim,  sin-darkened  judges. 
Terror  blanches  her  lips  and  makes  her 

confess 

Bonds  with  demons  that  her  heart  knows  not. 
Satan  sits  by  the  judgment-seat  and  laughs. 
The  gray  walls,  broken,  weatherworn  oracles, 
Sing  that  she  was  once  a  girl  of  love  and 

laughter, 


55 


Then  a  fair  mother  with  lullabies  on  her  lips, 

Caresses  in  her  eyes,  who  spent  her  days 

In  weaving  warmth  to  keep  her  brood  against 

the  winter  cold. 

And  in  her  tongue  was  the  law  of  kindness ; 
For  her  God  was  the  Lord  Jehovah. 
Enemies  uprose  and  swore  her  accursed, 
Laid  at  her  door  the  writhing  forms  of 

little  children, 

And  she  could  but  answer :  "  The  Evil  One 
Torments  them  in  my  shape." 


She  stood  amazed  before  the  tribunal  of  her 


church 
And  heard  the  gates  of  God's  house  closed 

against  her. 

Oh,  shuddering  the  silence  of  the  throng, 
And  fearful  the  words  spoken  from  the 

judgment-seat ! 
She  raised  her  white  head  and  clasped  her 

wrinkled  hands : 

"  Pity  me,  Lord,  pity  my  anguish ! 
Nor,  since  Thou  art  a  just  and  terrible  God, 


57 


Forget  to  visit  thy  wrath  upon  these  people ; 
For  they  have  sworn  away  the  life  of  Thy 

servant 
Who  hath  lived  long  in  the  land  keeping  Thy 

commandments. 
I  am  old,  Lord,  and  betrayed ; 
By  neighbor  and  kin  am  I  betrayed ; 
A  Judas  kiss  hath  marked  me  for  a  witch. 
Possessed  of  a  devil  ?  Here  be  a  legion  of  devils ! 
Smite  them,  O  God,  yea,  utterly  destroy  them 

that  persecute  the  innocent." 


58 


Before  this  mother  in  Israel  the  judges 


cowe 


But  still  they  suffered  her  to  die. 
Through  the  tragic,  guilty  walls  I  hear  the 

sighs 
Of  desolate  women  and  penitent,  remorseful 


men. 


Sing  of  happier  themes,  O  many-voiced  epic, 
Sing  how  the  ages,  like  thrifty  husbandmen, 
winnow  the  creeds  of  men, 


59 


Sing  of  the  Puritan's  nobler  nature, 
Fathomless  as  the  forests  he  felled, 
Irresistible  as  the  winds  that  blow. 
His  trenchant  conviction  was  but  the  somber 

bulwark 

Which  guarded  his  pure  ideal. 
Resolute  by  the  communion  board  he  stood, 
And  after  solemn  prayer  solemnly  cancelled 
And  abolished  the  divine  right  of  kings 
And  declared  the  holy  rights  of  man. 


Prophet  and  toiler,  yearning  for  other  worlds, 

% 

yet  wise  in  this ; 
Scornful  of  earthly  empire  and  brooding  on 

death, 

Yet  wresting  life  out  of  the  wilderness 
And  laying  stone  on  stone  the  foundation  of  a 

temporal  state! 

I  see  him  standing  at  his  cabin-door  at  eventide 
With  dreaming,  fearless  eyes  gazing  at  sunset 

hills; 
In  his  prophetic  sight  Liberty,  like  a  bride, 


61 


J 


Hasteth  to  meet  her  lord,  the  westward-going 


Even  as  he  saw  the  citadel  of  Heaven, 


He  beheld  an  earthly  state  divinely  fair  and  just. 
Mystic  and  statesman,  maker  of  homes, 
Strengthened  by  the  primal  law  of  toil, 
And  schooled  by  monarch-made  injustices, 
He  carried  the  covenant  of  liberty  with  fire 

and  sword, 

And  laid  a  rich  state  on  frugality ! 
Many  republics  have  sprung  into  being, 


62 

~^ry 


Full-grown,  equipped  with  theories  forged  in 


All,  all  have  fallen  in  a  single  night ; 

But  to  the  wise,  fire-hardened  Puritan 

Democracy  was  not  a  blaze  of  glory 

To  crackle  for  an  hour  and  be  quenched  out 

By  the  first  gust  that  blows  across  the  world. 

I  see  him  standing  at  his  cabin-door, 

And  all  his  dreams  are  true  as  when  he 

dreamed  them ; 
But  only  shall  they  be  fulfilled  if  we 


65 


MMMLMMk. 


Are  mindful  of  the  toil  that  gave  him  power, 
Are  brave  to  dare  a  wilderness  of  wrong ; 
So  long  shall  Nature  nourish  us  and  Spring 
Throw  riches  in  the  lap  of  man 
As  we  beget  no  wasteful,  weak-handed 

generations, 

But  bend  us  to  the  fruitful  earth  in  toil. 
Beyond  the  wall  a  new-plowed  field  lies 

steaming  in  the  sun, 

And  down  the  road  a  merry  group  of  children 
Run  toward  the  village  school. 


66 


Hear,  O  hear !     In  the  historian  walls 


Rises  the  beat  and  tumult  of  the  struggle  for 

freedom. 
Sacred,  blood-stained  walls,  your  peaceful 

front 

Sheltered  the  fateful  fires  of  Lexington ; 
Builded  to  fence  green  fields  and  keep  the 

herds  at  pasture, 
Ye  became  the  frowning  breastworks  of  stern 

battle; 
Lowly  boundaries  of  the  freeman's  farm, 


rampart 

And  still  ye  cross  the  centuries 
Between  the  age  of  monarchs  and  the  age 
When  farmers  in  their  fields  are  kings. 
From  the  Revolution  the  young  Republic 

emerged, 

She  mounted  up  as  on  the  wings  of  the  eagle, 
She  ran  and  was  not  weary,  and  all  the 

children  of  the  world 
Joined  her  and  followed  her  shining  path. 
But  ever  as  she  ran,  above  her  lifted  head 


68 

•>rv- 


Darkened  the  monster  cloud  of  slavery. 
Hark !     In  the  walls,  amid  voices  of  prayer 

and  of  triumph, 
I  hear  the  clank  of  manacles  and  the  ominous 

mutterings  of  bondmen ! 
At  Gettysburg,  our  Golgotha,  the  sons  of  the 

fathers 
Poured  their  blood  to  wash  out  a  nation's 

shame. 

Cleansed  by  tribulation  and  atonement, 
The  broken  nation  rose  from  her  knees, 


69 


And  with  hope  reborn  in  her  heart  set  forth 


again 
Upon  the  open  road  to  ideal  democracy. 

Sing,  walls,  in  lightning  words  that  shall 

cause  the  world  to  vibrate, 
Of  the  democracy  to  come, 
Of  the  swift,  teeming,  confident  thing ! 
We  are  part  of  it — the  wonder  and  the 

terror  and  the  glory ! 
Fearless  we  rush  forward  to  meet  the  years, 


70 


j 


The  years  that  come  flying  toward  us 
With  wings  outspread,  agleam  on  the  horizon 
of  time ! 

O  eloquent,  sane  walls,  instinct  with  a 

new  faith, 
Ye  are  barbarous,  incongruous,  but  great  with 

the  greatness  of  reality. 
Walls  wrought  in  unfaltering  effort, 
Sing  of  our  prosperity,  the  joyous  harvest 
Of  the  labor  of  lusty  toilers. 


71 


Down  through  the  years  comes  the  ring  of 

their  victorious  axes : 
"  Ye  are  titans  of  the  forest,  but  we  are 

stronger ; 
Ye  are  strong  with  the  strength  of  mighty 

winds, 
But  we  are  strong  with  the  unconquerable 

strength  of  souls ! " 

Still  the  young  race,  unassailable,  inviolate, 
Shakes  the  solitudes  with  the  strokes  of 

creation ; 


L 


Doubly  strong  we  renew  the  valorous  days, 


And  like  a  measureless  sea  we  overflow 


The  fresh  green,  benevolent  West, 

The  buoyant,  fruitful  West  that  dares  and  sings ! 

Pure,  dew-dripping  walls  that  guard 

The  quiet,  lovable,  fertile  fields, 

Sing  praises  to  Him  who  from  the  mossy 

rocks 

Can  bid  the  fountains  leap  in  thirsty  lands. 
I  walk  beside  the  stones  through  the  young 

grain, 


73 


Through  waves  of  wheat  that  billow  about 

my  knees. 
The  wall  contests  the  onward  march  of  the 


w 


heat ; 


But  the  wheat  is  charged  with  the  life  of  the 

world ; 

Its  force  is  irresistible;  onward  it  sweeps, 
An  engulfing  tide,  over  all  the  land, 
Till  hill  and  valley,  field  and  plain 
Are  flooded  with  its  green  felicity ! 
Out  of  the  moist  earth  it  has  sprung ; 


gracious  amplitud 
was  nurtured, 
And  in  it  is  wrought  the  miracle  of  life. 


Sing,  prophetic,  mystic  walls,  of  the  dreams 

of  the  builders ; 

Sing  in  thundering  tones  that  shall  thrill  us 
To  try  our  dull  discontent,  our  barren  wisdom 
Against  their  propagating,  unquenchable, 

questionless  visions. 
Sing  in  renerving  refrain  of  the  resolute  men, 


77 


~!^^^S~) 

*g^^=^iS>^h 


Each  a  Lincoln  in  his  smoldering  patience, 
Each  a  Luther  in  his  fearless  faith, 
Who  made  a  breach  in  the  wall  of  darkness 
And  let  the  hosts  of  liberty  march  through. 


Calm,  eternal  walls,  tranquil,  mature, 
Which  old  voices,  old  songs,  old  kisses  cover, 
As  mosses  and  lichens  cover  your  ancient 

stones, 

Teach  me  the  secret  of  your  serene  repose ; 
Tell  of  the  greater  things  to  be, 


When  love  and  wisdom  are  the  only  creed, 

And  law  and  right  are  one. 

Sing  that  the  Lord  cometh,  the  Lord  cometh, 

The  fountain-head  and  spring  of  life ! 

Sing,  steady,  exultant  walls,  in  strains  hallowed 

and  touched  with  fire, 

Sing  that  the  Lord  shall  build  us  all  together, 
As  living  stones  build  us,  cemented  together. 
May  He  who  knoweth  every  pleasant  thing 
That  our  sires  forewent  to  teach  the  peoples 

law  and  truth, 


79 

~M-Z^ 


Who  counted  every  stone  blessed  by  their 
consecrated  hands, 

Grant  that  we  remain  liberty-loving,  sub 
stantial,  elemental, 

And  that  faith,  the  rock  not  fashioned  of 
human  hands, 

Be  the  stability  of  our  triumphant,  toiling  days. 


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373131 

Keller,  H.A. 

The  song  of  the 
stone  wall. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


